


All the Paths We Could've Walked

by LonePiper



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, Angst, F/M, Feel-good, Humor, Post-Promised Day, Royai Week, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24600259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonePiper/pseuds/LonePiper
Summary: Royai Week 2020In the aftermath of the Promised Day, decisions need to be made.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	1. Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt for Royai Week 2020. It's a bit AU. First time I've tried connecting multiple prompts. I fear I will crash and burn.
> 
> Hopefully, it works as a series of vignettes scattered across the weeks following the Promised Day.
> 
> ed- Made it! 5 for 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 Prompt - 'Letter'

Discharged from the hospital and returned to duty, but there was nothing normal about it.

Only a few weeks had passed since the madness in the tunnels beneath Central. And now Hawkeye sat at her desk watching Mustang's back, as she had done for so many years, as she thought to do for many more. He reclined in his chair, facing the wide office window and the skyline of Central spread out beyond. There was talk of promotions and new assignments. It was still hard to see the future after the events of the Promised Day.

Hawkeye looked up at the sound of a tap on the doorway.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

A young Corporal skittishly held out an envelope towards her.

“I have a letter for the Colonel.”

“Very well. I’ll see that he gets it,” she said as he handed her the letter.

Mustang turned as he heard Hawkeye walk over to his desk.

“Letter for you, sir.”

He extended his hand. A sharp, narrow ridge of scar tissue crossed his palm, the scars from Bradley’s sword only just beginning to fade.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said as he turned the envelope over in his hands. His fingers ran along the crisp edges. He felt the impression of the Amestrian Military Crest where the stamp and pressed it into the paper. But instead of the indentations of the typewriter key strikes, it was addressed by hand.

“Hum, I was expecting something more official.”

Deftly he lifted the corner of the flap and tore open the envelope. He took out the single folded sheet of paper and handed it back to Hawkeye.  
“What’s the news, Lieutenant?” 

Hawkeye unfolded the letter and scanned the contents.

Mustang could tell from her sigh the unsurprising contents of the letter.

“It’s from Grumman,” she said.

“Hum, nice of the old man to get in touch directly,” mused Mustang.

 _“Dear Roy,”_ Hawkeye began,

 _As a courtesy to you, I wanted to tell you before the official documentation is sent, that you’re to be promoted to the rank of Brigadier General prior to your honourable discharge on medical grounds. You will receive all the benefits on discharge due to that rank._

_As you can appreciate your current state makes you next to useless to the military and knowing you as I do, I can’t see that you would want to remain with the Military in a non-combatant alchemist capacity._

_Hawkeye is also to receive a promotion. She will be offered the rank of Captain. I would suggest she hold off tendering her resignation, as I’m sure she will, until that new commission comes into effect. Then she also will be eligible for the benefits offered by the higher rank._

_You two will need all the assets you can muster, and even though you’re not going to be in the military, I expect to still have you tugging at my heels for the leadership of this nation._

_Yours most sincerely,_  
_Grumman._  
_(Fuhrer Elect)_

Mustang turned his slate grey eyes to look directly toward Hawkeye. She could still see the determination there, burning as fiercely as ever. His sight taken by Truth wouldn’t lessen his vision. Her hand curled around the letter in her hand as she felt her own resolve to work for a better future, to work with him, strengthen.

“Well, Lieutenant,” he asked, “what’s it to be? I’ll no longer be your commanding officer. I can’t assign you to any task.”

Hawkeye smiled her small smile, equal parts admiration and admonition, “When do you suppose, sir, that my commitment to follow you was in any way dependant upon your rank?”

Discharged from duty, and returned to the world, and there was every possibility about it.


	2. Little Pistols

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 Prompt - 'Little Pistols' by Mother Mother

It had all seemed so clear and hopeful in the cool afternoon light. Marco’s suggestion, his request, had seemed reasonable and righteous. But as the night drew in, doubts grew in the darkness and it seemed more and more like a bargain with the devil that would only end in more pain and injustice.  
  
Hawkeye woke in a cold sweat, her breath short stabs of air into her lungs.  
  
After Ishval she had a recurring nightmare, jumbled and confusing as nightmares usually are. It was always the same. The roses in her Mother’s garden, red as blood, would burst into flame; but then they weren’t roses, but people burning, and screaming. Inevitably the obscenely red flames would condense into a churning wall that threatened to crush her. In the nightmare Hawkeye would draw her pistol from behind her and try to shoot into the swirling terrifying mass of red, but the pistol would fuse into her hand and the red would engulf her and she would wake terrified, heart racing, in a pool of sweat.  
  
He couldn’t do it. She couldn’t let him do it. After all they had done wrong how could they hope to find a path forward if they willingly added more red to their ledger.  
  
“Lieutenant?” his concerned whisper came through the darkness.  
  
Hawkeye tried to calm her breathing. Blood was pulsing through the wound on her neck, and she focused on the sensation, willing it to slow down.  
  
“Yes, Colonel,” she replied, her voice little more than a hoarse murmur.  
  
She heard Mustang let out a slow breath. “You’ve been having a nightmare, haven’t you?  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“The burning roses?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The silence hung heavy between them. If he knew that the horror of Ishval had been stirred up within her, then she knew that the same was so for him. The death they had seen, so much that it threatened to stifle comprehension. The death they had caused, drenching them so deeply they wondered if they could pay any reparation before it overwhelmed them.  
  
“I dreamt of the desert and the Stone,” said Mustang. “I touched it and I was burnt away to ash. Just engulfed in a wall of red flame and screams.”  
  
Hawkeye felt her own breathing steady, and match the gentle rhythm of her Colonel’s. She turned to look at him. Cloaked in the dark she could see him, sitting cross legged on his bed. How long had he been sitting there? What ghosts of the past had been tormenting him? What visions for the future had he been exploring?  
  
“And then I was in a garden,” he continued. “It was a familiar place and there was a beautiful rose bush with red roses. I reached out and…”  
  
There was a calmness to his voice that surprised her. She almost feared the resolve she heard.  
  
“What of the Stone?” she broke in anxiously. “Sir, there’s so much suffering in the Stone. How can we plan to benefit from it? Whatever our justification.”  
  
“You’re right Hawkeye,” he said. “Benefiting from the suffering in the Stone can’t be condoned. But what does it benefit those souls to stay in such torment?” Mustang’s voice was barely above a whisper. He turned to face her, despite his blindness she felt him looking straight into her. “Hawkeye, are you worried I’m about to abandon the path again so soon?”  
  
Hawkeye drew a breath and closed her eyes at the thought, the numbing feeling, of how close she had come to shooting her Colonel. Was it only a day or two ago? In the darkness, with the choice now before them, it was easy to feel again the desperate conflict that had gripped her. The need to stay the course, and by doing so to know the inevitability of never finishing it.  
  
“Please, sir,” she said, “How can this be the way?”  
  
“I won’t put you through that ever again. I might be going to do something foolish, Lieutenant,” she could hear him grinning, “but I’ll never be that fool again.” His tone became sombre, “Still, I don’t know I can do what’s needed alone. I still need to know. Will you follow me?”  
  
Hawkeye thought of her nightmare, the burning roses and the little pistols that crippled her hands. Nightmares she had for the sake of following this man. But still he asked, never assumed, never demanded. The Promised Day had reset the course in so many ways, but her choice was already made.  
  
He looked like a figure carved in granite.She could see his resolve and knew with everything she was that she trusted him still.  
  
Her wounded voice crossed the distance to him.

“We aren’t in hell yet, sir."  
  
She saw his shoulders relax and the breath he didn't even know he held slipped through his lips.

"Thank you, Hawkeye.”  
  
She felt something shift, like points on a railway line moving beneath her.

Mustang’s voice broke through the dark, “I think I see a way forward. Roses shouldn’t burn, Hawkeye. Roses should bloom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's the second bit.
> 
> I didn't really vibe with the song, but I've tried to play with some of the imagery.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	3. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 Prompt - Old Wounds

Hawkeye had never considered the sound that drawing with chalk would make on linoleum. As Marco moved about marking out the transmutation array on the floor, she closed her eyes and considered what Mustang was making of the soft scratching and footsteps, the preparations he was making in his own mind.

It was late afternoon by the time Marco came to their room. Hard to tell if his disfigured face looked more fatigued than usual. He had spent the morning with Havoc.

Hawkeye didn’t doubt Marco’s motivation as a healer, and knew he had the knowledge and experience to unleash the Stone's dormant power. But neither did she doubt Mustang's will to move forward without adding to their burden.

Marco finally stood up and reviewed the markings on the floor. With a satisfied grunt he turned to Mustang as he sat on his bed.

"Alright, Colonel, it's time," Marco said as he brushed off his dusty fingertips against his jacket. "I need you to stand in the centre of the array."

The array was only an arms span across. Hawkeye didn't know if the colour of an array was of any significance, but as she looked at the blood red markings, the intricate lines and symbols, she felt her stomach churn.

Mustang slipped off his bed and turned towards where he knew Hawkeye was standing.

"Are you ready, Lieutenant?"

She studied his face. If he could have seen her, she knew it would have told him completely what she was thinking. A glance between them could convey it all. But blind as he was he had to rely on the sound of her voice alone. The pauses, like eddies in the flow of emotion and thought; and the slightest emphasis to a syllable that gave weight and meaning, hinting at her true thoughts.

“Yes, Colonel,” she simply stated and moved to his side. Mustang instinctively laid his bandaged hand on her shoulder, she felt his grip tighten on her shoulder for a moment as much offering support as seeking reassurance. She led him across the floor to the array and, removing his hand from her shoulder, she held his hands for a moment and stared into his grey and foggy eyes.

“We’re here, Colonel,” she said as she guided him to stand in the centre of the array.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” he acknowledged as he gently grounded his feet onto the patterned floor. “Behind me, just outside the array.”

Hawkeye stepped out of the array and stood behind Mustang.

“She doesn’t need to be here,” Marco stated as he carefully took the vial holding the Stone from his pocket. “Just you and me, Mustang. If there’s any kind of rebound I don’t want anyone else caught up in it.”

“I need her here.”  
“I’m needed here.”   
They spoke in unison as they turned to face Marco.

Marco looked at the two of them, bandaged, but still standing. Standing together. He knew he should protest Hawkeye’s presence in the room; and he also knew he could do nothing about it. He shook his head.

“Alright,” he muttered, “have it your own way. Please, Lieutenant just stand back a little. And don’t move.”

Marco picked up Mustang’s damaged hands, palms upwards, and placed one over the other. Then he slipped the Stone from its glass vial and lay it in the palm of Mustang’s upper hand.

Mustang felt it. Not just the mass of it, which seemed insignificant, but the vast weight of the power it contained. The texture seemed simultaneously solid and fluid, as if solid stone was sublimating into a gel, spilling across his skin and back into a solid. Dancing like the heart of a flame and flowing like water, at once smooth to the touch and yet pricking through his skin, a burr caught in the fabric of his bandages.

His cure lay literally in the palm of his hand; and it was also his curse.

“Alright, Mustang, I need you to be still. I’ll be activating the array and drawing on the power of the stone. I just need you to stand still. Too much movement will be dangerous.”

The energy of the Stone thumped into his hand, into his soul, like the needle on a phonograph bumping into an album, the quiet scratching across his palm as anticipation built that something was about to start.

Dropping to his knees, Marco placed his hands on the array.

Hawkeye saw Mustang’s hair rustled by a wave of energy flowing up from the floor as the array began to glow. Then, like the deep rumble of thunder in the distance, building and drawing closer until the storm front hits, the array exploded in scarlet light and power.

Mustang felt the maddening power of Stone in his palm, felt the raw power of it in every facet of his being. Power that could shatter him in less than a thought. He knew the torment of the souls trapped in the Stone. He could still see the desperate forms of the lives in Envy, writhing in unending agony.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, but Hawkeye saw and stood ready.

Truth had taken his sight, but had also given him a gift. Mustang brought his hands together pressing the Stone between them.

“What the hell?’ cried Marco. “What are you doing Mustang? You’ll collapse the transmutation!”

It was a simple and elegant concept. Using himself and clap alchemy Mustang would create a minor adjustment to Marco’s transmutation circle, altering the flow of the Stone’s energy, altering the path of the souls. No longer to be enslaved in the Stone, or traded to restore Mustang’s sight, he would guide them through the new array, through himself, and allows them to flow free; to find whatever peace they could.

Mustang felt a shift in the maelstrom, pulling and pushing at him as the torrent of souls flowed inward and outward. He fell heavily to his knees. The reaction was escalating, gaining force as water breaking through a dam wall. Mustang began to slump forward and his hands slipped, threatening to drop the Stone.

In an instant, Hawkeye was kneeling behind her Colonel. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders and, sheathing his hands in hers, she clasped his hands together.

In the midst of the storm, maddening and howling red, they knelt like two people praying for absolution. Hands enfolded, like a knight swearing allegiance to their Lord.

As Hawkeye held him, she bore with him the wild power of the Stone

All the old wounds she carried burned as if freshly opened and laden with sulphur; the lacerations on her face cut by Pride and Envy, the burns on her back. The remnant of the array she bore across her shoulders pulsed and heaved as the unbounded souls from the Stone found their way out and through them. Red flame and blood filled her vision. Blood oozed from the bandages around her neck, cool compared to the heat of the soul storm that engulfed them.

The souls of so many, slaughtered for a monster; who’s slaughter made monsters of many more whipped past and sliced through the kneeling pair. Every stroke of injustice was measured back. Hawkeye and Mustang felt so many lives fusing to their souls, only to be torn away again. They saw with a new clarity what they had been apart of, not just knowing what had been done, but understanding how the sacrificed felt about it.

A beating sound grew, like a hammer on an anvil. The forces pressing on them were making the blood pound in Hawkeye ears. Red flashes flew past her vision; sparks of dross flying from flaming red ore, leaving behind refined metal.

Then silence. A void of sound as profound as the roar of the transmutation storm.

It felt as if a great pressure had lifted from her head.

Still the red moved before her eyes, but no longer hot and angry sparks of flame and blood. Gently drifting red fragments swirled out from them, falling softly in all directions until they faded away.

“Do you see them, Hawkeye?” Mustang rasped. 

He turned in her arms to face her, and in his still grey eyes she saw a new hope.

“Do you see them?”

“I… I see red?” she replied and Mustang could hear her confusion.

“Roses should bloom, Hawkeye,” he whispered. “Roses should bloom. And in time, the petals fall away.”

The afternoon sun returned a warm yellow glow to the room as the transmutation faded. Hawkeye and Mustang held each other as they knelt on the floor. Hands entwined, heads inclined and gently breathing together. There was still a long way to go, but they had chosen their path and they had taken the first step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprisingly I'm still doing this. :) I have assorted thoughts about Mustang remaining blind. I don't think of it ever as a punishment.
> 
> And, can you even 'collapse a transmutation'?


	4. Crackle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 Prompt - 'Crackle'

Clap!

Hawkeye looked up to see the Colonel standing in front of his desk. His jacket was off and sleeves rolled up exposing his lean muscular forearms. He stood with feet apart, agile, as if ready to fight and one hand was thrown out before him.

Mustang was in a surprisingly good mood today. Hair ruffled up from scratching his head in thought, inquiring grin lighting up his face, even his slate grey eyes seemed to hold some of their old glint.

Clap!

She, on the other hand, was feeling a little uneasy. They were alone in the office. The Team still scattered, recovering, reassigned. The uncertainty of their situation, a blind Colonel and his near exsanguinated Lieutenant, was weighing on her today. She was trying to focus on the scant work she had to do, reviewing yet again her report on the events of the Promised Day, and his repeated clapping was not helping her concentration.

Clap!

"Sir, what are you doing?"

"Practising."

Again the look of concentration, pause...

Clap!

And his hands thrown out before him, as if flicking a ball across the room.

"Practicing what, sir?" her voice not concealing the annoyance she felt.

He spread his hands and cocked his head as he looked toward her.

"Alchemy." He didn't actually say "...what else?!" but she felt it in his tone.

She watched as he shook out his shoulders, gently rubbed the scars on his palms and the backs of his hands, adjusted his stance and,

Clap!

Right arm flicked forward with a flourish of the wrist.

"Did you hear that?" he asked.

"Other than your repeated clapping, I heard nothing, sir."

"Humm," his lips pursed as he motioned his hands in various ways before him; almost as if rearranging some floating blocks that only his grey eyes could see.

Hawkeye tried to return to her paperwork.

Clap!

_Zing._

The unexpected noise flew past Hawkeye’s left ear, snatching at her attention.

"Did you hear that?"

"I heard something."

"Was it, was it like a _crackle_ sound?"

*No, more like a _zing_."

"Humm…" he thought.

Clap!

Again a sound flew past her left side. Hawkeye turned to the sound.

"What about that? Mustang enquired. "That was a _crackle_ , right?"

"No, sir. I'd say that was more of a _rumble_."

"Damn. Ok, this time Lieutenant!"

Hawkeye forgot the report, forgot her worry and watched as Mustang again settled his stance.

His mood, despite their current uncertainties, was full of his boyish enthusiasm. The past was no longer such a burden, and the future held new opportunities. He was enjoying alchemy again, enjoying learning to master the Clap Alchemy he was gifted with. And his mood was a fresh breeze, blowing away her unease.

He lifted his head, focused on a spot beyond her left shoulder, and

Clap!

Then his right arm arched out and his wrist flicked, no click of fingers, his palm open. And flying past her left ear Hawkeye heard a distinct

_Crackle!_

"Yes!" she exclaimed, surprised by her own triumphant voice.

Mustang felt her smile. Manipulating the air, creating pressure waves, without gloves tainted with their bloody array, a bold new world was opening before them.

“That, sir,” confirmed Hawkeye, “was a definite _Crackle_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I didn't have anything for this prompt, until a wonderful late-night conversation with bergamots, and my husband's snoring delayed my sleep, and this idea came to mind.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


	5. Ocean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 - Picture Prompt

When she was a young girl, Riza had kept a small box of treasures. Things of no consequence that would have seemed like rubbish to anyone else. But to her they were beautiful, wondrous things. And when she felt achingly alone she would curl up in her room and look at the scant things in the bottom of the little wooden box; a red ribbon from a gift her Mother had given her, a button that shone like a rainbow when the sunlight caught it, a scrap of brocade fabric richly decorated with flowers, a coin from an unknown country with its unusual shape and foreign markings, and a picture she had found of a couple sitting on a bench, watching the sun hanging low over the ocean.

Riza had never seen the ocean, it was beyond all the borders she knew. She never expected to see the ocean, and so the picture of two people sitting, watching the sun, over such an unimaginably vast and unknown expanse of water was as intriguing as it was unnerving.

She had made up stories about the couple watching the sun rising, or setting, over the water. Stories of how they had met, and where they had been, how they wanted to be together and would be there for each other through all the unknown story to come.

Mustang's last day passed in a steady stream of meetings, signed papers and handshakes.

His last day as a serving Officer, his last day as a State Alchemist.

And at the end of the day, his Captain waited to drive him to his apartment for the last time.

The sun hung low over Central as Hawkeye guided the saloon through the streets. It caught her eye as she turned the corners that led to Mustang’s apartment, and in the split moment it flashed in her vision, a fragment of memory, the sun hanging low, drifted in her mind.

Mustang didn’t need assistance getting to his apartment. His blindness, once so devastating, now seemed a humbling inconvenience. Still he kept his hand laid on Hawkeye's arm and let her lead him into the building, up the stairs to his front door.

He found his key, and stepping through his doorway, he turned and laid his hand upon her arm again.

“Stay," he said. His voice waived as if it would fail altogether if met with the slightest resistance. Not an order, not a command, just a word, “Stay."

Hawkeye felt the uncertainty in his voice. She hadn't expected such a request, but neither was she surprised by it. She had spent many evenings at the Colonel's apartment. Always working on legitimate military business, despite what the world said of them. But the notion of staying now that he was not ‘the Colonel’ was suddenly unnerving.

"Is that an order, sir?" she tried to mask her own uncertainty.

Mustang struggled momentarily with the answer.

“How could it be?” he said as he turned inside.

“And what would we do if I did stay?” Hawkeye asked as she followed him through the doorway.

Mustang shifted on his feet, looked to the ground, and started to fiddle with the buttons on his greatcoat. Had he even considered what her reply might be?

"I thought we could just… Just spend time together.” he paused. “We can do whatever you want, really. Just be. Just be together."

Just that. To be and stay together. Without scrutiny or consequence, without condemnation or an immediate earth-shattering goal to achieve. Just to be.

“I could make you a cup of tea,” Mustang awkwardly stated as he pointed towards the kitchen.

“Well then, sir, I shall stay.” Hawkeye smiled in reply as she helped slip off his greatcoat.

The sun's low rays shone through the closed windows, the light playing across the dust on the glass, softening its entry to the room. Sitting curled beside Mustang on his couch, tea in hand, Hawkeye watched as the crimson sun slowly crept down. Its journey marked by the shadows from the window frame arching across the wall.

She took it all in. The red cast of the sunlight, Mustang’s hair catching the light and curiously highlighting both deep burgundy and midnight blue, the floral brocade vest hung over a chair, the unusual curve of his eye, almost Xingese. And the two of them, a couple, sitting together and imagining a vast and unknown future, intriguing and brave.

Familiar things that floated in her memory.

And they told each other the stories of how they had met, and where they had been, how they wanted to be together and would be there for each other through all the unknown story to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I've made it to the end. WooHoo!!
> 
> This was a very different creative experience for me. Basically 5 pieces in 5 days. I'm very grateful for some encouragement along the way. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it. Any comments or constructive criticism are always gladly recieved.
> 
> Godspeed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. As always any comments or constructive criticism is welcome. Happy Day to you.


End file.
